The Guest List: Zech Baumover (Punk Talk)

(Things I’ve encountered and/or became enamored with in the past month)

My name is Zech Baumhover. I am a 22 year old snot that roams Indiana searching for things that make me forget that I’m a 22 year old snot. I play in several bands in Lafayette, most notably (currently) Punk Talk where I hold down one combat machine.

It was nice to find this single on the Digital Circuit when I popped into work this morning. You know that feeling when things are getting stale? Like when you keep seeing this act with the same name, but every time you see them the members are skinnier and more effeminate, but less talkative and approachable, but they still are playing all the same songs and asking for more money (ie. Bare Wires). Good things don’t last forever and you need that cut, The Slash, I’ll call it. This firecracker is taut. Wound tight! Matthew Melton still brings that cruisin’ never-look-back-beat with the hooks still intact, but something seems a little more solid here, perhaps it sounds like a band playing and not just Mr. MM doing all the work.

So this Psyche movement is kind of a big deal now. It’s like open season on the garage turkeys; track one down and see what color it bleeds, Gawdayumit! The thing is this new movement is becoming susceptible to some of the same flaws (disease, plague, unsustainability) as the slew of bands which were borne-as-reaction to the Budget Rock movement 20 years ago. Bands popping up everywhere: doesn’t matter if you have taste, doesn’t matter if you have an original idea, and it doesn’t even matter if you sound like the band down the street. Shit is played out if ya ask me. Loss of character is the ailment here. I don’t wanna see that again….thank god for this music video from Mallard directed by so and so. There is enuff flashback to an even smokier time, but it has some sort of modern aggression, which does not feel transposed. The tune itself is punctuated with `umpf’ and `ahn’ that keeps me interested for days: bass lines and guitar twangs that act like sonic onomatopoeia. Combine that to archetypal visuals of the progress of time and the essence of life, this tune keeps me in-tune with myself. (Plus who can’t help but enjoy two cuties jammin’ out!)

I recently have grown tired and old of sitting up here in Rusty Lafayette. I had to take a break….Bloomington here I come. Hitched a ride with Thee Open Sex (where I was grilled on my poor history in Bloomington), then spent a good week of haunts in that ol’ Hippy Dippy town. There’s nowhere else I know I can manage to bum around. For Rock’n’Rollers, there is an assortment of couches, floors, and lake beaches for one to crash upon. But the main attraction is the free food! Hit up Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard on the south side, right on S. Walnut Street. Once a week you can wait in line with other waifs to find what goodness exists. Come out with two bags full of sustenance. When you need a break from cooking, stroll over (just a few blocks from MH’sC) to the Bloomington Community Kitchen. A person is served a tray, much like school food but better, and then is offered seconds. On top of that you can take two entrees to go. Vegetarians are served alike. It’s not easy being a street walkin’ tuff, especially on an empty stomach.

Local booze peddler, owner of several Village Bottle Shoppes in the Greater Lafayette Area, decided he wasn’t feeding enough addictions across town. Now, as well as blowing yer bucks on 6 packs, 40 oz.’s, and box wine, you’ll be sinking tokens into an array of Pinball machines right downtown. It adds some color to the block ever since Zooleggers was run out on a rail. Each month a machine is chosen for Tournament Play, high scores cashin’ in on some wonders. I can’t seem to escape the place once I’m in. It is worse than the bar. If I were you, I’d hit up his liquor store and then come down for some boozy pinball. I have enough respect for the guy to dedicate myself to both at the same time.

Just last night, I was stunned to find a happenin’ I did not know about. It was at the Black Sparrow pub, and Paul Baldwin set it up. Of course it was in disarray: the band needed help. Gay (actual band name) was all the way down from Toronto and they could not hear themselves talk. I ventured upstairs to see what Paul could offer.

“Almost nothing.”

Instead of doing the right thing and continuing my duty to serve, I decided to stick around and bullshit with Paul for a minute. What led to this decision was the eyeballing of some fine liquor he had to offer. I tugged on the Scotch immediately, it felt good, but I was insatiable. I looked, and I looked hard in that clutter and found something Green hangin’ about. I questioned Paul.

“Be careful, that’s a mean one.”

I uncorked that sucker and found out. Who has heard of American made Absinthe? Especially at 60% Alcohol content. It’s a Phenomenon I don’t think many Americans are ready for. I stumbled downstairs and I had Power.

The Dream started at first sip. The Reality began as I slipped asleep. It’s a Mystery of where I stand when I awoke.